“I’m no gold-digging whore!”
I don't even know why I'm bothering to write about this. Lord knows there are more important things going on in the world, not least this or this, but Heather Mills McCartney just gets right on my tits. And since we're in the Halloween season, why not wheel her out?
Let's get one thing straight right off. I have never liked her. Even before the McCartney suffix, i felt she was a big liar. When I would see her on TV talking about her so-called modelling career, or that she lived under a bridge, and about her collision with a motorcycle that left her missing a leg, everything that came out of her mouth just made me laugh. Even the stuff that one cannot dispute -- such as the leg thing: the way she would tell it just sounded made-up, sensationalized, stretched beyond belief.
Another thing: I don't like Paul McCartney. Sure, I dug The Beatles enough, but Macca was never the talent of the group. Come on: compare "Imagine" with "Pipes of Peace" and tell me, Who are we kidding here? So my dislike of Heather has nothing to do with any allegiance to some British treasure (read: dinosaur).
And Paul should have known better. But instead of thinking with his head ("Why does this young woman want to be with boring, old, washed-up me?") he thunk with his cock ("This young woman wants to be with me. I still got it goin' on, baby!")
Yeah, you got it goin' on, Paul... all the way to the very expensive divorce courts. Because in a bid to prove to us all how much you got it goin' on, you went and had a kid with Heather. And now she's proper got you by the purse strings.
But Heather doesn't like that people think she is a whore or a gold-digger. Heaven forbid. She is a persecuted soul, like Diana or Madeleine's mum. Puh-leeeze. "I've done loads of work for charity over the past 20 years," she fake-cried.
Have you heard that other story? She claims all the while she was in Dancing with the Stars, she was suffering a broken pelvis. Oh, she's such a cunt! But what would we do for laughs without her?
Let's get one thing straight right off. I have never liked her. Even before the McCartney suffix, i felt she was a big liar. When I would see her on TV talking about her so-called modelling career, or that she lived under a bridge, and about her collision with a motorcycle that left her missing a leg, everything that came out of her mouth just made me laugh. Even the stuff that one cannot dispute -- such as the leg thing: the way she would tell it just sounded made-up, sensationalized, stretched beyond belief.
Another thing: I don't like Paul McCartney. Sure, I dug The Beatles enough, but Macca was never the talent of the group. Come on: compare "Imagine" with "Pipes of Peace" and tell me, Who are we kidding here? So my dislike of Heather has nothing to do with any allegiance to some British treasure (read: dinosaur).
And Paul should have known better. But instead of thinking with his head ("Why does this young woman want to be with boring, old, washed-up me?") he thunk with his cock ("This young woman wants to be with me. I still got it goin' on, baby!")
Yeah, you got it goin' on, Paul... all the way to the very expensive divorce courts. Because in a bid to prove to us all how much you got it goin' on, you went and had a kid with Heather. And now she's proper got you by the purse strings.
But Heather doesn't like that people think she is a whore or a gold-digger. Heaven forbid. She is a persecuted soul, like Diana or Madeleine's mum. Puh-leeeze. "I've done loads of work for charity over the past 20 years," she fake-cried.
Have you heard that other story? She claims all the while she was in Dancing with the Stars, she was suffering a broken pelvis. Oh, she's such a cunt! But what would we do for laughs without her?
Labels: heather mills mccartney, john lennon, paul mccartney
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